


After Everything

by pushupindrag



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Insecurity, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, post episode 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushupindrag/pseuds/pushupindrag
Summary: Jaskier has always had inferiority issues, especially since his family threw him out. Geralt's outburst hadn't helped, and when he comes to try and apologise, how can Jaskier accept it?He hated the late nights, especially after a performance like that one. One that was only met with half-hearted cheering and coin that’s more to get him to shut up over anything else. They had been few and far between recently, the past few years, but coming across them never hurt any less.Especially with Geralt’s words ringing in his ears constantly. Ever insult he had given to him regarding his singing and performances running through his mind in an endless loop coupled with well, everything else.But those insults were the loudest. And it’s ironic, that he’s grateful they cover the ones shouted at him by his mother as he was forced to leave.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 491





	After Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I know this is horribly OOC but i'm sad and projecting so!! Have this!
> 
> Also i've only seen the show so! Stuff's based on that!
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> \- Brief mentions of non explicit homophobia  
> \- Jaskier having little to no self worth for the entire thing  
> \- Family members briefly physically hurting Jaskier
> 
> Un-beta'd so please let me know if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Come chat to me about these idiots on my tumblr [here!](https://valleyofwitcher.tumblr.com/ask) if you want!

When the door closes he slumps against it, back against the wood as he tilts his head back. Eyes closing as he sighs, lute gently placed on the table beside the door before he locks it, and then wraps his arms around himself, going over to fall into the bed.

He hated the late nights, especially after a performance like that one. One that was only met with half-hearted cheering and coin that’s more to get him to shut up over anything else. They had been few and far between recently, the past few years, but coming across them never hurt any less.

Especially with Geralt’s words ringing in his ears constantly. Ever insult he had given to him regarding his singing and performances running through his mind in an endless loop coupled with well, everything else.

But those insults were the loudest. And it’s ironic, that he’s grateful they cover the ones shouted at him by his mother as he was forced to leave.

Fuck. He scrubs his hands over his face, shifting so he’s on his back, peeking up into the darkness through his fingers. He hadn’t been able to afford ale, the colder months were drawing in and with it, people were getting less likely to give.

So without it, and with him having to rely on his White Wolf ballads to even get coin, his thoughts have little else to do but torment him.

He used to love performing. Used it as a way of coping, of covering himself. A protection of sorts. If he was performing, well, he couldn’t very well think about anything else. And over the years, it had brought him a deep sense of happiness and purpose. He had been invited to courts to play, to banquets and feasts, it had gained him an education. Performing had been a positive outlet rather than a form of escapism as it had once been. He had found a love for creating. For writing, and singing and making others happy.

Now though, it just kept bringing memories up. Memories he had been trying to forget for two years.

Why was it always the people he cared about that had thrown him away?

Because the masses didn’t matter. The opinions of the court, of other bards. Of people who sang along. Not really. Not when those he cared about didn’t give a shit, hated his singing and performing in fact.

Hated him.

“Fuck.” He spits it into the silence, turning over and pulling the cover over himself, not even bothering to get changed.

Once he starts thinking about it, the memories don’t stop.  
  


_ “Leave here, and don’t come back you waste of space.” It was his mother, spitting at him, hand brandished in the air from here she’d slapped him, leaving his cheek red raw and throbbing. “And take that fucking instrument with you.” _

_ She’d found him sitting in the drawing room, playing his lute when he should have been learning about the family business with his brother. He had been skipping those lessons for months, too intent on playing. But he suspected her abject dislike of him had come when she had found him holding hands with the blacksmith’s son. She couldn’t hide her disgust after that. _

_ He had run to his father, tears in his eyes. Practically on his knees asking him to talk some sense into her. _

_ “She’s right.” Is all his father had said, turning away. “Go. We don’t want you here anymore. You’re a disappointment Julian. And we can’t afford that in our family.” _

_ His brother had not been so forgiving, cornering him as he tried to leave. _

_ “Finally! Mother and father came to their senses and kicked you out!” He had laughed, older and taller, he had easily kicked Jaskier’s feet from underneath him. “I told mother she should have done it when she caught you with that boy. At least now you can’t bring us anymore disgrace.” He’d gotten a kick to the ribs with each sentence. And oh, how he never imagined his brother could be so cruel, harbour such ill will towards him. _

_ “Fuck off.” His brother had spit, one last time before leaving him in the dirt of the entrance to the estate. And it had taken Jaskier a while to be able to stand up once again. _

_ With that he had left, with nothing but his lute and a change of clothes. And gone to search for something to turn the anger and sadness he felt into something better.  
  
_

And he had, for a while. He had learnt things, had a wonderful time at Oxenfurt. And then he had gone out on his own.

It was hard, swallowing down the rejection of crowds that didn’t care. But he used it, to hone his craft and his stubbornness. Because there was nothing better than changing a crowd's mind about you, about winning them over with your talent and your performance. Even if you didn’t get coin from it.

And ofcourse, he had met Geralt. And he had started to get popular. But as he traveled with the witcher his feelings had only grown. And while his popularity had grown, his name preceding him in towns he didn’t know existed as well as bigger cities as he wrote song after song, none of that seemed to matter compared to the witcher’s judgement of him.

Because while he had insulted him, Jaskier had thought at the time it had been just teasing, a playful banter they had long since established. Especially given that in quiet moments, just them around the campfire on nights under the stars, Geralt would tap his foot along to his playing. Or he would bob his head, his movements on time with whatever Jaskier played. And he didn’t shy away from it either, whenever Jaskier just caught him. He’d just roll his eyes and let out a bemused smile at his own actions.

There was his behaviour towards Jaskier when he wasn’t playing though. The teasing banter that rolled off their tongues, the gentle touches. The way that Geralt would care for him in that silent way. The threatened cuckolded husbands or lords that he thought Jaskier didn’t know about. It was how Geralt would look at him, the smiles he reserved only for Jaskier paired with that gentle gaze.

Geralt was the first person who had seemed to care about him properly since his parents had thrown him out. Someone who wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck, not that Jaskier would ever complain, but it was nice having someone who cared. 

And at some points, he even thought Geralt returned his feelings. Because how could Jaskier not fall in love with him? With his attentive yet quiet care. His secretly gentle nature. And with how he looked at Jaskier, how he tended to him in their quiet moments alone, how could Jaskier not assume that possibly Geralt felt the same way?

Then of course Yennefer had come along. And while he had been jealous, he would never begrudge anyone happiness. Not when he knew what feeling rejection on such a deep level felt like. So he had backed off, let them be. Because Geralt still cared for him, even though he was fucking the witch. He had still shown that he cared for Jaskier.

That would have been enough.

All of that must have been for show though. With what Geralt had said on the mountain. It must have been pity that fueled his actions. Something Jaskier was painfully familiar with   


Because there were always people who would look at him and see a sad bard who sung of heartbreak too personal to be a story and used it against him. They thought they were doing right, by coddling him with sweet words or gestures. Most ending in a bed somewhere where they tried to kiss him better. But their stares and attempts only fuelled the shame lingering behind his navel. Making him feel ill. He didn’t need their pity.

He was stupid to have not seen it, not recognised it sooner. He had mistaken Geralt’s pitying actions as ones of care. How could he?

Because of course he was unworthy of love. Unworthy of care. Nobody cared for him, he was too much of a fuck up. His parents had been right all those years ago. Geralt had just proved their point even further.

This was why he didn’t get close to people. Because he knew he’d ruin them. Ruin their lives. Just like he had done with Geralt. The witcher had said so himself. And while Jaskier knew he had been angry, angry words were most often the truest.

So here he was, crying to himself in a tavern in the middle of nowhere in the dark. Biting back sobs as he bit into his own arm to stop the sounds from escaping. Pathetic and useless. Just like he always had been.

-

He falls asleep crying, because when he wakes up his eyes are red and sore, face tacky with dried tears.

“Shit.” He’d be on his way today, having heard whispers of a witcher last night. And even if it wasn’t Geralt, he wanted to be as far away as he could be just in case. The least he could was not fuck up the one thing Geralt had asked of him. To be out of his life for good.

Not bothering with changing, too tired from the previous night and if he was travelling nobody would be around to care anyway, he packs up his things, not that there are many of them, and puts his lute away, stringing it onto his back before heading out. Wanting to be out as quickly as possible.

Stopping at the bar to turn his key in and get some breakfast for the road, he almost misses the figure in the corner. 

He’s brooding, just like he had been when they first met and Jaskier’s blood runs cold at the sight of the white hair and the swords.

“Actually. Never mind. Goodbye.” He says, even as the barmaid brings out a plate of food and he runs, actually runs out of the tavern.

His fast breathing has nothing to do with his pace as he scrambles out of the tavern and into the street, panic setting in fully. He fucked up again, didn’t move on quick enough. And he’s terrified that Geralt will find him and unleash another round of words just for his mistake, words that will finally tip him over the edge like they almost had last time.

In his panic he almost forgets he has a horse, a cinnamon coloured darling he named accordingly and he curses again. He swerves, going to the stables and almost chokes at the sight of Roach. Because of course, along with Geralt came Roach. And fuck, he had missed her just as much as he had missed Geralt.

“Oh my dear.” He breathes, even in his sorry state, and she looks up, whinnying at him happily and comes over as he walks up, hands reaching out to pet at her snout. “I have to go. Now. But it was so wonderful seeing you.” He places a kiss there, laughing as she nibbles at his doublet. “Take care of yourself girl.”

Somebody, something, he cared about that hadn’t told him to fuck off. With regret, he turns to the next stall, going to saddle Cinnamon quickly, not doing the best job in his haste. But he could fix it when he got out of town. “I’m sorry my love. For the rush. But there is someone here who wants me gone so we need to go.” He murmurs as he ties his pack to her saddle, although he almost drops it when he hears a cough from the stable entrance.

“Another cuckolded husband?” The deep voice has his heart racing again. Fear coursing through his veins. Because this time Geralt would surely say worse things. Maybe even lash out, for Jaskier not doing as he wanted.

And he knows Geralt had never been angry, would never hit anyone that didn’t deserve it. But well, he’d thought that of his brother too.

“I’m almost gone.” He hates the shake in his voice. Hates that he can’t seem to put on his performing mask when he’s around the witcher. “I promise, I didn’t mean to cross your path.”

“Jaskier.”

“Seriously.” He spins around, chest heaving. Ready for whatever it is Geralt will say next, do next. One could never be sure.

He’s stepped forward, coming over and Jaskier can’t help but flinch as he waits, back pressed against his horse. “Whatever it is, just get it over with.” He cringes, memories flooding his senses as waits.

He jumps when soft fingers touch his face, the bags under his eyes and the dried tears. “Why are you afraid?” Opening his eyes, he finds golden ones staring at him. “You’ve never been afraid of me-”

“How can you ask that?” He pulls his head away, choking on his breath. “How can you ask me that after everything you said to me?” Pulling away, he turns around and secures the packs on Cinnamon properly. “Now i’m doing what you ask of me, and giving you your one lifes blessing. I’m taking myself off of your hands.”

His heart is in his throat as fear clutches at him, the self loathing and hatred that had built up grasping at his heart, his lungs, his tongue. The anxiety, everything. It’s enough to get him to try and get onto Cinnamon. But he’s stopped again, hand on his arm that he bats away without thought, angry now.

Because why wouldn’t Geralt let him leave. Let him do something right in his eyes for once. Just let him go. Why is Geralt messing him around like this? Could he not see how hurt Jaskier was? How much he had broken him?

Somewhere, deep inside of himself, he knows he’s owed an apology. He had spent a few weeks beyond angry, ranting and raving as he had walked. Because he spent decades with that man. Even though that anger had given way to his melancholy, it rises again.

Because even if he was all the things Geralt had said. Even though though he was a fuck up who didn’t deserve love, or care. And apology wasn’t either of those things. And it was the one thing he felt he did deserve. No matter how much his self loathing was telling him he didn’t.

He at least deserved an apology for getting deserted. That mountain had been dangerous, and Geralt had left him alone.

“Jaskier, I didn’t mean it-”

“Yes you did!” He’s going to get a headache with how much he’s spinning, and he does, back to face Geralt, finger going to poke Geralt in the chest.

“Jask-”

“Nobody says things with that much venom and doesn’t mean them Geralt. Now let me give you your fucking wish!”

“Jaskier please-”

“Don’t come back and act as if everything’s okay!” He can hear the tears in his voice, tries to back away but he’s stuck between Geralt’s chest and Cinnamon’s flank, even though she cranes her neck around to nibble at him, a small show of comfort as she hears his distress. “It’s not okay!” He says, quieter now.

“I know it’s not.” He huffs, taking his own step back and it gives Jaskier a bit of room to breathe. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier can’t help but laugh at that, hollow and bitter. “Don’t say that as if you care Geralt. You made it very clear you don’t. And I make a point of not staying where i’m not wanted. You made that very clear.” It’s surprising that he’s not crying, even though he can feel them just behind his eyes.

“I do care.”

“That’s a lie! Everything you told me was a fucking lie. Except what you said on the mountain.” Absently, he goes to pet Cinnamon, anchoring himself to something, anything. “You were right. You were all fucking right. I’m a fuck up and a waste of space, I know that. But hearing you say it so harshly.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “You could have been gentler telling me. Could have left one night like we sometimes did and then just never found me again. It would have hurt less.”

“Wait.” Geralt goes from crossing his arms to reaching out again, frowning when Jaskier shies away from the touch. “What do you mean right?”

“Oh don’t give me that.”

“No what do you mean-”

“Oh you want me to say it now?” The anger rises again. “Admit that i’m a useless waste of space that nobody cares about because I fuck up every good thing in my life? That i’m a piece of shit who talks too much yet has fuck all to say? That I bring everyone so fucking down, that I will never amount to anything? That i’ll never be useful, be able to help, that I just get in the way?” 

He watches, with a twisted sort of vindication watching Geralt’s face screw up, frown deepening. “Well congrat-u-fucking-lations Geralt. You hate me. I hate me. Everyone hates me. You happy now? Can I finally leave you in a peace and give you one last fucking blessing?”

“You don’t believe that.” He sounds shocked, eyes frantically scanning Jaskier’s face and Jaskier chokes on a wet laugh.

“Of course I believe it. It’s true! Everyone fucking tells me so how can I not? You even said it yourself Geralt.”

“I was angry and hurt and lying, to get you to leave.”

“People speak the truth in their anger Geralt.” He shakes his head. “You never fucking liked me. It was just pity, don't worry I get it. You let me go on one hunt to shut me up and then you’re stuck with me for life. Sorry I subjected you to me.” He wipes a tired hand over his face. “Let me go Geralt.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t lying Jaskier.” He watches as Geralt runs a hand through his hair. “You know that I wouldn’t keep you around if I didn’t enjoy your company. Didn’t like you. You know that.”

“Do I? Because people have kept me around for pity before, I know what it looks like. And you didn’t like me to begin with. We both know that.”

“No we don’t! I was annoyed by you sure, but I never disliked you. I could never hate you either. Especially since you grew on me, and we became friends.”

It’s odd, seeing him speak so openly and candidly. Jaskier wishes it was before everything happened.

“Did we though Geralt? Because really, after everything you said. All I seemed to do was shovel shit for you.”

“I was wrong. You helped me in those situations. Even if it was just cheering me up afterwards. Please Jaskier.” He lowers his head, and given how close they are in height, Jaskier knows it’s a show of vulnerability, leaving his neck exposed. Something he used to do when Jaskier would wash his hair. “At least tell me you don’t believe any of that shit you just said please. Even if you ask me, I can’t leave you alone if you do.”

“And why not? Everyone else does?”

“Well they shouldn’t. Jaskier, you’re the best man I know.”

“You know Geralt.” He wants to leave, wants to run. Wants to say anything to get out of the situation. “I’ve loved you for so long I doubt i’ll ever stop. But you threw that away. Like I knew you would. And fair it’s partly my fault, because what you said was right. Must be right. But I can’t trust you now, to not say those things again. To not think those things again.”

“I’de kiss you if I knew you’d believe I meant it.”

He catches his breath and his heart stops. “Geralt don’t lie to me further please.”

“It’s been two years Jaskier. Two years of searching and waiting and thinking. I’m sorry. Please. Please come back.” He steps forward, laying a gentle hand against Jaskier’s cheek that Jaskier can’t make himself pull away from. “I love you, and I am so incredibly sorry for hurting you and sending you away.”

“Geralt-”

“Come back to me. Let me prove I didn’t mean it please. Let me prove how much I love you, I won’t send you away again.”

The tears finally spill down his face, hot and heavy, but Geralt doesn’t move his hand away. Instead he just gently rubs at Jaskier’s cheekbone with his thumb, and when Jaskier meets his eyes he’s still concerned and serious looking.

“I can’t leave you alone now.”

And Jaskier can’t help himself. He collapses into Geralt, arms coming up to rest against Geralt’s chest. “You can’t say anything like that again, i’ll break.” It’s horribly honest. But he has to be open, to be clear.

Because he desperately wants Geralt to prove himself, the part that still loves him feels so much better wrapped in Geralt’s arms. But the anxiety in him continues to stay in his chest. But it’s lessened, ever so slightly, by the way Geralt runs his hand up and down his back, soothing and gentle.

“Never. Never again. I promise.”

He doesn't believe the promise. Can’t do. But he nods all the same. Because nobody had done this, sought him out afterwards, asked for a second chance. Told him they were wrong.

“I can’t believe that. But i’ll come with you.”

The hold Geralt has on him get tighter by just a fraction. “Thank you.”

“Geralt?” He looks up when Geralt eventually loosens his grip. “Kiss me?”

If he was going to hate himself anyway, he may as well get whatever he could while he had the chance. 

He tilts his head back, gasping at the gentle touch at his jaw and he lets geralt guide their mouths together. It’s soft and hesitant, as if Geralt wanted to treat him carefully. Like something worth keeping safe, even as he deepens the kiss Geralt keeps it slow, fingers on Jaskier’s jaw keeping him from going too quickly.

“I love you.” Geralt whispers when they break apart, and Jaskier keeps his eyes closed. And tries desperately to believe him.

-

Later, when they’ve set up camp for the night under the stars, Roach and Cinnamon getting along surprisingly well and sharing their feed, Geralt wraps him up in his cloak, holding him tightly.

“Later.” He hums into the skin of Jaskier’s neck. “We’re going to talk about what you said earlier, about yourself.” Jaskier just hides in the embrace.

“Later.” He almost pleads, and feels Geralt nod and then place a kiss on top of his head.

And they would.


End file.
